


Buried Alive (FebuWhump 09)

by SylvanFreckles



Series: Freckles' FebuWhump 2021 [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Buried Alive, Castiel Whump (Supernatural), Febuwhump 2021, Gen, Original Angel Characters - Freeform, badass balthazar, based on some old works, hurt without a lot of comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanFreckles/pseuds/SylvanFreckles
Summary: Like being buried alive in the core of the sun.When Castiel is captured and tortured by Raphael, Balthazar enlists Sam and Dean's help for a daring rescue.
Relationships: Balthazar & Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Balthazar & Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Freckles' FebuWhump 2021 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139234
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	Buried Alive (FebuWhump 09)

**Author's Note:**

> Set in season 6, before the boys get blasted to the "real world".
> 
> This is loosely based/inspired by two chapters from some other fics - "Light" from Overheard at the Bunker" and "Five Tarnished Rings" from Twelve Days of Fictmas 2019. You don't have to read either of them to understand this one, but they're out there if you're curious.

Sam looked up when Dean slammed the book shut with a curse. “Nothing?”

“Oh, there was Alpha lore all right,” Dean retorted. “Alpha Incubus. Thought to be the source of all sexual deviation and a bunch of weird cult stuff, but it's probably all garbage. Read more like some sicko fanfiction if you ask me.”

“You...know what fanfiction is?” Sam raised his eyebrows.

Dean just snorted and tugged another book off the pile. “Don't even go there, Sammy.”

Sam bit back his grin and turned back his own book. Bobby had dug up everything he could think of that might even reference the Alpha monsters, and was currently on his way to one of Rufus's old drop sites to check for more.

Which left them between cases trying to find out more about what Samuel and Crowley could possibly have been up to.

Dean restlessly pushed the book away and Sam was about to suggest a break when a gust of wind blew through the room and ruffled half the pages off the table.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean began, twisting in his seat.

“Oh, shut up, Dean.”

It wasn't Cas, it was Balthazar. He looked winded, maybe even a little exhausted, but he rubbed his hands together as he studied the brothers. “Good. You're both here.”

Sam opened his mouth to ask what the blond angel meant, but before he could even get a word out Balthazar had a hand on both their shoulders and the world was sliding away from them. Bobby's kitchen disappeared to be replaced by a large, dark space with a hint of vaulted ceilings, then the florescent brightness of a bowling alley, then a dozen other places before he finally released their shoulders and the stumbled onto their knees in what appeared to be a warehouse basement.

“What the hell!” Dean pushed himself up, then immediately grabbed at the nearest wall for support. No doubt his head was spinning as much as Sam's, and the younger Winchester decided to stay where he was until he got his bearings.

Balthazar, looking even more disheveled now, held up a hand for silence and peered around in the darkness. “I think this was far enough...Phineas?”

“Abigail's laying the second trail,” a tall, redheaded young man, face speckled with freckles, emerged from the darkness around them. “I think they followed you as far as Budapest, but you threw them off at the ruins.”

“Good,” Balthazar clapped his hands together. “Now...yes, darling, you may speak,” he interrupted his own sentence to stare at Sam, who had just started to form a question.

“I just...what's going on?” Sam asked.

“And where the hell are we?” Dean added.

“Where doesn't matter,” Balthazar waved a hand dismissively. “As for what...I need your help.”

Dean let out a snort. He was finally standing up straight, though it looked like he could go back down at any moment. “For what?”

“Cassie's missing.”

Sam went cold. Everything else—the irritation at being pulled away from their work so quickly, the nausea from the journey, his underlying mistrust of Balthazar—all of it faded away at the angel's words.

“What do you mean missing?” Dean managed to ask. Sam pushed himself up to his feet and stood beside his brother, facing off against Balthazar and Phineas.

“Raphael's taken him,” the blond angel explained. “We don't have a lot of time—Dean, I need your blood.”

Dean took a step back, very nearly wrapping his arms around his chest. “Why?”

“Don't be an idiot,” Balthazar rolled his eyes. He made a gesture and a small vial appeared in his hand. “Profound Bond? The kind of thing that leaves a mark?”

His older brother's hand automatically went up to his right shoulder. “It's gone,” he replied, a little confusedly. “Cas, he...he healed that a long time ago.”

“Not that, the mark on your soul. That kind of touch leaves a connection between the two of you, something more than physical. Your blood can help me get to Cassie.”

Dean nodded and tugged his knife free. Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Don't be absurd,” he taunted and grabbed Dean's wrist with his free hand. The older Winchester stumbled a bit at the contact, but to Sam's surprise the vial slowly filled up with dark red blood.

There was another rustle of air from somewhere in the darkness and Balthazar nodded in approval as he tucked the vial away in an inner pocket of his coat. “Now. The two of you need to go with Phineas and Abigail and cause distractions. Big ones. Big enough to pull Uncle Raffy and his minions away.”

“Hang on, no, we're going with you,” Dean protested.

“Out of the question,” Balthazar shook his head. “I need to do this alone.”

“That's insane,” Sam said. “What if all of Raphael's forces don't respond to the distractions?”

“That's why you're going to make _a lot_ of distractions.”

“But what if they don't? What about guards or, or the rest of his army?” Sam raked a hand through his hair, shaking his bangs back out of his eyes. “You can't rescue him alone, Balthazar, that's crazy.”

Balthazar actually laughed at that. “My stupid little monkey, who said anything about rescuing? I'm going to steal him back.”

* * *

Despite his bravado, Balthazar was under no illusions that this was even a  _good_ plan. Yes, if Phineas and Abigail—two of the fastest from his garrison back in the old days—could string together enough mischief to empty the barracks here, he had a shot. And, if he was right about the spell holding Castiel, he should have the proper counter-spell to break it. 

His stomach twisted as his wings shuddered at the memory of that spell. Once upon a time it had been a flail, wielded by the hands of angels like Zachariah to “correct” the behavior of angels like Balthazar. Back in those days, when Zachariah had controlled the ranks through fear and awe and to stand against him was to invite some of the most terrible punishments of Heaven.

Balthazar had stood against him once. So had Castiel. So had so many others that had chosen to throw themselves into battle rather than face the Flail of the Accuser. Michael had ordered the flail melted down, and Zachariah had had it formed into five rings. Each one capable of causing great pain and destruction.

Those rings had been his goal when he plundered the armory of Heaven. He'd taken other weapons, of course, so that with so much stolen no one would suspect he'd actually just been after Zachariah's pride and joy.

And then Dean Winchester stabbed Zachariah in the face. Maybe he hadn't given the boy enough credit.

True to their (less than creative) nature, Raphael had set up his little torture headquarters in an old factory in the middle of nowhere. Much like the beautiful room where Zachariah had always done his business, this place looked like nothing more than an abandoned building from the outside. Inside, Balthazar knew, would be a cavernous space with layers upon layers of spell circles etched into the floor of walls, all to contain the prison in the middle of the room.

He crouched against the base of a tree a dozen or so yards away from the factory. He and Abigail had carved runes into the tree, beneath the bark, that should make him undetectable but...well, it hadn't gone so well when he'd come here for reconnaissance. Balthazar had gotten a rough guess on how many soldiers Raphael had stationed here before he'd had to take flight.

_Ready, brother_ . Phineas's voice was grim and determined, and Balthazar caught the slightest hint of the large summoning circle he and the younger Winchester had painted in an empty stretch of highway somewhere in Iceland before a burst of pressure from the factory indicated three angels on their way to investigate.

There was a brush in his mind of Abigail's voice, alive with the scent of broken marble as she and Dean shattered a monument to the archangels in an old catholic church. Balthazar waited as two more angels were dispatched to investigate.

He watched the factory as he listened to the others carry out their part of the plan. Phineas was impressed by the younger Winchester's methodical dedication to their distraction...Abigail giggled and passed on every vile name Dean was calling Raphael. The number of angels responding to the others' actions began to dwindle, until they were being sent out one at a time. Then there were none. Balthazar waited another agonizing few minutes, as Sam stole the rosary from a priest's tomb and Dean taught Abigail how to make crop circles, and finally spoke to Phineas to start the final stage of the plan.

They would summon Raphael himself.

There was no telling if the archangel was here on earth or in Heaven, and the summoning spell Balthazar had found wouldn't work either way. But after nearly half an hour of emptying his own barracks to investigate the heresies being committed all over the world, Raphael wouldn't be able to resist going after whatever puny little being dared to summon him.

Nothing happened for a few moments. Then an awful, world-bending pressure erupted from the factory in front of him. Balthazar felt himself thrown flat as the archangel Raphael, his fury an almost tangible force, streamed up and into the ether to chase down those who dared to summon him.

Balthazar was back on his feet in a moment, darting inside the factory with barely a rustle from his wings.

It was exactly as he'd expected—large open space, overlapping spell rings, prison in the center. It didn't look like a prison, but so many things in Heaven were deceiving. It seemed to be a column of golden light, and the surface of the column shifted as though it were made of scales.

Light was part of the essence of an angel. Light shouldn't have been a punishment, but that was the horror of the Rings of the Accuser. To have light itself turned against you, burning you, enveloping you. It was like being buried alive in the core of the sun.

There was no time for finesse. Balthazar pulled out the vial of Dean's blood and dribbled a few drops on the first spell circle he reached. The incantation was swift and rolled off his tongue easily—it was a magic often overlooked, but the blood of a mortal bound to a celestial being could shatter the strongest chains. Even if they chose to view that bond as merely brotherly (though, really, who were they kidding), it was still strong enough to break through a prison like this.

He moved on quickly. There wasn't enough time, and this was his only chance at this. If Raphael or one of his minions caught him, Castiel could be taken up to Heaven or sent to the depths of Hell. 

Soon there was nothing but the column in the center left. Balthazar flicked out a hand to summon his angel blade and trickled the last of Dean's blood along the weapon's edge. There was a stirring in the air around him, a sense of incoming pressure. He was out of time.

Balthazar lunged up and pierced the side of the column with his blade. The scales sparked and shattered as he hauled down, bracing himself with his own wings as the bloodied blade snapped right through the facets of the binding spell.

The column's light dimmed, then vanished altogether, and Castiel tumbled free of his prison and right into Balthazar's waiting arms.

“Hey! Stop him!”

No time. Balthazar flapped his wings and pulled them out of the factory and to another place. Then another. Then another. Landmarks and buildings rolled by at dizzying speeds as he crisscrossed the world, then he was back in that musty basement where he'd brought the Winchesters.

“They're right behind me,” he gasped. Phineas nodded, his face tight and anxious.

“Balthazar...” the younger angel hesitated. This was the part of the plan no one had liked. They had to lead Raphael's minions, to keep Castiel safe, and the only way to do that was to set a different trail.

“He'll understand,” Balthazar gently shifted Castiel until the dark-haired angel was lying mostly against his shoulder. They'd stripped him of everything but his shirt and trousers, and his vessel showed signs of rough treatment. His true form, however...Balthazar could have retched. 

The eyes, the wings, the fantastic, eldritch features of his brother's true form had been beaten and burned and torn. It reminded Balthazar too much of the young angel, the flail that had damaged him so badly the healers spoke of nothing but a mercy kill...and the bright, blue-eyed brother who had carried him and protected him and poured his own essence into healing every wound until he was good as new.

“He'll understand,” Balthazar repeated. “It's all right.”

Phineas swallowed and nodded, then his hand phased half into the etherial plane to grab a handful of Castiel's feathers.

Cassie bucked against the pain, twisting further into Balthazar's arms to bury his face in the other angel's shoulder. “It's all right,” Balthazar said again, both to the traumatized brother in his arms and the stricken one before him. “Go, Phineas.”

Before the rustle of the younger angel's wings had faded, Balthazar was already pulling a slip of paper out of his pocket. “You, the tall one.”

Sam Winchester made a face—though he tried not to, which was very considerate of him since they might all be dead anyway—warily approached. “What do you need?”

“Finish these sigils, I've already started them. Use your blood.”

The shorter, angrier brother wandered over. “Just his blood?”

“He reeks of sulfur,” Balthazar explained. At the startled look on both boys' faces he shrugged. “No offense. Happens when you spend time downstairs. The scent will convince anyone looking for us that this is just a demon's lair.”

Sam nodded and took the paper, pulling his own knife out to start the work. Dean hesitated, staring down at Balthazar for a moment, then retreated to a corner of the basement where the angels had stockpiled human supplies in case they needed to stay here for a few days.

Balthazar gently lowered himself to the ground and rearranged Castiel so that he was cradling the other angel more or less in his lap. There was no telling what kind of damage had been done by his time in that blasted column. Angels had lost their minds after torture like that, or been left with their true forms crippled.

He tried not to think about that. He let his grace gently brush over his brother's form and wrapped his etherial wings around him. In their true forms angels could meld with each other for healing or comfort...stuck in these limited little vessels the best he could do was brush the hair out of Castiel's face and assure him that he was safe.

“Is he okay?” Dean asked. He'd come back across the room with a blanket, obviously noticing Castiel's near nakedness (yes, it was a shirt and trousers, but considering his brother usually wore about seven other layers this was practically immodest for him). 

“What do you think?” Balthazar gave the older Winchester a flat look. “Raphael can adjust the flow of time. Cassie might have been tortured over centuries or millennia. I didn't even know he was gone until last week. I thought he was with you.”

Dean hunkered down into a crouch, resting the backs of his fingers against Cassie's pale cheek. “We haven't seen him in a while. Wish he'd check in more often.”

Balthazar let out a cold laugh at that. “He's been a little busy  _losing_ a civil war against a power you can't even hope to imagine.”

The human had the grace to flinch at Balthazar's tone. “What happens now?”

“We wait.” Balthazar finally accepted the blanket and let Dean help him wrap it around Cassie's unconscious form. Dean stared at him for a moment, jaw working as though he wanted to say something, then pushed himself back up to his feet to wander over to help Sam with the sigil work.

Balthazar leaned over the form in his arms, brows knitting together in a frown when he realized Castiel was trembling. “Come back to me, Cassie,” he murmured. “It's my turn to carry you.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's a part two to this story, it's for the "Torture" prompt so it's a few days away. We'll get more of the story from Castiel's point of view, and see more of the recovery too.
> 
> I have over a dozen WIPs sitting in my laptop, but there's one with the working title "The Light of Attrition" that actually tells the full story of this, including the backstory with Castiel and Balthazar in heaven. It's on the list, so maybe someday I'll be able to finish it.


End file.
